Page 118 of Deliria

What the fuck is he doing here, wherever here is?

I turn my head, realising that what I’ve been staring at isn’t an entirely blank wall. No, there are chains, secured and fixed and at the bottom, where the stone floor meets the brickwork is a shadow. A man.

“Rrrafe?” My voice sounds weak, strained, like I’ve been screaming for hours on end and my vocal chords are fucked.

“Jesus,” Rafe gasps. “You’re alive. You’re… I thought he’d drugged you, thought he’d…”

“I’m okay.” I reply, though that’s not actually true. I’m not okay. I’m so far from it.

I’m furious, angry, and so horribly aware of everything that has happened, everything I’ve endured in this cursed house at the hands of my fake-husband.

I try to move again, and the ropes wrapped around my limbs refuse to budge.

“Fuck,” I snarl before dropping my neck, because the effort of holding it up feels like it’s giving me whiplash. “How long have we been here?”

“Since yesterday.”

Yesterday. I remember it, remember him. Remember being so calm, so collected. I know my behaviour had psyched him out. He thought he’d have to fight me, have to beat me into submission.

But I wasn’t stupid enough to pick a battle I couldn’t win.

No, I knew what cards to play, how to manage him. He thinks I’ve been a victim this entire time, he thinks he’s been the one pulling all the strings, but what he doesn’t realise is that very soon the entire board is going to flip.

And then we’ll see what Alexander Forster is really made of.

I let out a laugh, let it echo around the hollow space. I guess we’re in the dungeons. It makes sense to keep us here, contained. It’s too soon to do the dirty deed, too soon to bump me off. If I die now, all my millions will revert to nothing, to no one. He needs me to be of age, to reach my maturity according to the trust-fund my parents established, to ensure he gets the entire pot of gold.

“They’ll be down soon.” His voice sounds ominous, but worse than that, he sounds almost defeated.

“They?” I whisper before my mind tells me who he means. Alexander and Vincent. The dream team.

“Having a nice little catch up, I see?”

My body jolts. Adrenaline seems to electrify me as his voice hits me. He takes slow deliberate steps, no doubt revelling in this moment of perceived victory.

As he steps into the room, he twists the lantern in his hand, turning the gas up enough for the room to fill with a warm, almost soothing glowing light.

My eyes meet Rafe’s across the expanse, and I can see the bruising, the cuts. He looks like he’s been in one hell of a fight. He’s chained the wall, just as I guessed. He’s been stripped, his shirt or top or whatever he had on, is gone and his bare chest is exposed, as are his tattoos. The mangled skin of his scar catches the light with an eerie shine.

Did Alex do that to him? Did he beat him up after he drugged me? I can’t see how that was possible, how Alex could have overpowered Rafe.

But if Rafe was looking for me, if he put himself in danger…

I force that thought back down. I don’t have time to dwell on this shit right now. I need to stay present. I need to focus.

Can he get free? Can Rafe get us both out of here?

Would I even allow that? No, I can’t. Despite what I know I’m facing, I have to be here, I have to endure this. I need to stick to the plan.

Alex steps between us, blocking us from one another with his body.

“My dear wife,” He says, cupping my cheek.

I snarl before spitting at him. “I’m not your wife.” I hiss. “We never had a marriage, not a legal one anyway. You forged my signature. Nothing about it is binding.”

He shakes his head with his usual smirk plastered across his face. “My lawyer bore witness to it, Love.” He replies. “He will swear on oath that you were present, aware, and more than capable of consenting to it.”

Of course he will. I bet he’ll be paid handsomely out of my money to ensure he sings whatever tune Alex tells him to.

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